


Hydrophobia (Deleted Scenes and Alternate Scenarios)

by BlueEyedArcher



Category: Dishonored (Video Games), Thief (Video Game 2014), Thief (Video Games)
Genre: Asexual Character, Assassination, Attempted Murder, Awkward Flirting, Awkward Sexual Situations, Blood and Injury, Corruption, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, Explicit Sexual Content, F/M, Fluff and Angst, Hurt/Comfort, Inappropriate Humor, M/M, Major Character Injury, Multi, Murder, One Shot Collection, Past Abuse, Post-Traumatic Stress Disorder - PTSD, Trauma, primal
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2019-10-26
Updated: 2019-10-26
Packaged: 2020-12-30 19:54:45
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Graphic Depictions Of Violence, Major Character Death
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,034
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/21145625
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/BlueEyedArcher/pseuds/BlueEyedArcher
Summary: This is a series of One-Shots that are deleted scenes, alternate scenarios and filler situations I wanted to put into my main fic Hydrophobia but didn't work in the end. This also contains a few humorous pieces and guilty pleasure works that I wanted to indulge myself in writing. If you enjoyed Hydrophobia and want to see what didn't make the cut, then come check this out!





	Hydrophobia (Deleted Scenes and Alternate Scenarios)

**Author's Note:**

> WARNING:
> 
> This piece involves a lot of mentions of child abuse and pedophilia. It doesn't go too far into detail but can be triggering to some. Garrett decides enough is enough and faces his abuser and their actions which causes a very raw reaction as his traumas are brought back to the forefront of his mind. 
> 
> Read with care! If you can't stomach it, there is no shame in skipping to the next one-shot.

Garrett had spent a good amount of the afternoon preparing for the task at hand. He took care not to tell Basso of his exploits tonight, knowing the fence would be furious and try to stop him if he did. Victoria’s words hung heavily in his mind and tormented him with questions all night last night. He gave up on any ambition of getting sleep and started planning. He checked all of his gear, tested it for any flaws and frays and inspected his bow. His bike was already in good working order, proven by the two short laps he did around the neighborhood earlier that afternoon.

Normally giving the target location a good once over before carrying out the mission, Garrett knew better than to risk that with this job. It was personal and the man was a lunatic. He couldn’t hope that his neighbors weren’t just as bad and rolling through on his bike in a quick pass or even just jogging by would raise too many red flags and get him noticed. He wasn't fond of going in blind but he did have the upper hand of having a rough idea as to what to expect. It didn't take much effort to find blueprints of the building construction and an old site that had once listed the house in question on the market, showing images of the home's interior set up. It was as good as he would get.

For a police Lieutenant, Harlan had a very nice home in the Auldale and Dayport area. Settled nicely on the boundary line in a quiet little suburb. It was a gated community, come to find out, but even gates and underpaid security guards couldn't stop him from carrying out his job. He parked his bike two streets over to avoid the suspicions of the patrolling security unit outside of the gates. He watched from the shadows, timing the guard patrols and how long it took them to do their rounds. In one hour, they did six rounds, giving him a ten minute opening to get in and if timed properly, another ten minute window out.

Scaling the brick exterior wall was easy enough. He avoided the bright LED lights of the overhead street lamps as he slipped over the wall into the shrubbery of a neighboring backyard. He counted the lots, figuring out which building was Harlan's and making his way through the shadows of his neighborhood. Some houses had motion sensor cameras installed, causing him to pause and time his movements carefully as he clambered over the fences. There was always a few seconds of delayed frame. If he moved fast enough, he'd just be a blur at best across the screen, that's even if the camera catches a glimpse in the first place. His cloak did a wonderful job of distorting his figure on surveillance, looking more like a phantom and less like a living person.

He stayed low to the ground, working around a yard that had a dog house. He cursed under his breath and examined it closely for movement. His fears abated when he realized it was in fact, utterly empty. They spiked again with the corner that said canine was tucked away somewhere else in the yard. He made quick work to vacate the premises and carry on to the next house over, finding himself in the back of Harlan's home.

Just like his neighbors, Harlan had motion activated cameras. These ones had a limited range to their sensors, allowing him to stay just on the outside of their view and work in their blind spots. It was tricky, but Garrett managed to stay hidden and edge his way along the shadows of the fence towards the back door. He bypassed the door itself and clambered instead, up the siding towards the first peak of the roof and edged along it carefully. He frowned as he stepped carefully on the shingles. 

"You really need to clean your gutters. I bet your HOA won't be happy if they saw this." He grimaced, taking care in how he stepped, avoiding any heavy foot falls or slick areas as he worked his way towards the window. If the mental map he had in his head was correct, this would lead him to the upstairs bathroom that sat off on it's own. Luckily, unattached to any other room.

He ran his fingers along the frame thoughtfully. The window wasn't necessarily complicated but he'd rather not break the glass and alert Harlan to his presence. He took a tool out of his pouch and started shimmying the frame out of its weather proofed seal, working the top piece off first and setting it aside. After that, the second piece was easy and he could slide them back into place, removing the locking mechanism and making for an easy escape when he finished. He found himself perched on the bathroom sink, inspecting the absolute mess that was the man's house. The foul odor was bad enough to be considered a truck stop restroom. Garrett grimaced, glad his mask was working as a filter to keep some of the reek away but sadly not all. The floor had a disgustingly sticky quality to the bottom of his boots that he really didn't want to think about.

Oddly enough, it reminded him of hiding in the boy's locker room in high school to avoid the wrestling team. He may have picked the locks to their lockers and stolen most of their lunch money but he counted it as fair when he had witnessed them taking from other students and overheard them gloating about swiping from their parent's wallets.

Of course this was more than just stealing from a wallet. He peered out of the bathroom doorway and inspected the hall. He scowled at the faint blue glow coming from the master bedroom but after a moment of listening in, he heard the telltale sounds of the old hobgoblin snoring away. Satisfied, he turned the opposite direction, aiming for the doorway across the hall. There wasn't any room he could consider as an office space for the lower levels of the house but assumed the guest bedroom would be fair game.

He was rewarded for his sleuthing when he turned the knob and opened the door. His heart nearly stopped when a stack of notebooks balanced precariously on the floor had nearly toppled from the motion. Garrett grabbed them gently and settled them in their skyscraper imitation. The walls were plastered with newspapers and printed out imagery, tacked into the plaster and in some areas, strung together with twine. It looked like something from a bad detective movie and was considerably more creepy when Garrett noticed that numerous images had been of him. Some were recent, photos of him sitting on his bike at different places around town such as restaurants, grocery stores and that one time he had been sitting at the park and enjoying an ice cream in the summer heat.

But a vast majority were older, from years back when he was a minor. Pictures of him with Basso, some showed him walking home from school with his backpack slung over his shoulder. A few were from the summer when he had taken up cutting people's grass at Basso's encouragement to learn responsibility and the value of a hard earned dollar. He was sixteen at the time and had taken his shirt off in the heat and tied it around his waist. His pale skin was sun scorched on his shoulders and forearms, as well as across his cheeks. His hair was much longer and swept up into a messy ponytail. Garrett winced at just how tiny and frail he looked back then. His stomach rolled with increasing unease when he spotted another photo. Again, he was a minor and he was dressed down to just a pair of boxers. His body was littered with wounds and bruises, face swollen on one side where a black eye was already forming and a split lip that was still bleeding in the image. It had been a police report from long before he met Basso and before his first run in with Harlan.

The roadwork of bruises covered his arms, torso, legs and neck. The imprint of fingers left behind by large hands. He had minor lacerations and abrasions on his elbows and knees.

Garrett felt his blood run cold the longer he looked at this. The image had been placed front and center amidst the ungodly collage that he was pretty sure was considered illegal. He doubted Harlan was doing anything appropriate with those pictures like solving any real crimes. Garrett knew the man's obsession was bad but he didn't know it was like this. It made him itchy and eager to get this done and leave. His hand ached faintly as he curled his fingers into a tight fist, forcing away the reminiscent twinge of phantom pain and the choking fear that bubbled up in his chest. The heat that curled along the nape of his neck like he had walked into the heart of a predator's lair. He didn't have the luxury to lose himself to his past. It was too dangerous to let those feelings in, not here anyway.

Forcing himself to continue on, swallowing back the rough ball that settled in his throat, he maneuvered his way carefully through the stacks of folders and piles of case boxes. One after another had some connection back to Garrett and some job he had done along the way. It took everything he had not to want to light a match and set this whole fucking place on fire.

Eventually, he made it to his goal. Slipping behind the desk, he started to access Harlan's computer. Luckily the idiot left it on sleep mode and he slipped through any security precautions left to stop would be snoopers. He plugged in his special software into the USB port and started working his magic. With the sheer amount of files on the man's computer, he didn't have the luxury to hunt and peck through them all. He highlighted the most important folders and started moving them to his device while skimming through open emails and scrolling back the last few months.

His fingers worked quickly across the keyboard as he saved everything he could find that even remotely looked useful, including several emails involving Mayor Northcrest and mentions of Moira Asylum. Garrett felt the heat return to his eye, that warm buzzing that settled in his skull like electricity humming in his ears. The world shifted into a blue haze as he fought through the growing pain. The sound of voices whispering in his ear. Echoed orders that were far too loud. He covered his eye with one hand, stumbling back and catching a stack of binders behind him. They started to slide and hit the wall with a loud thud. His heart stopped, he listened through the rushing of his blood in his ears for any sound of Harlan rousing from his sleep. He was met with silence.

He breathed a sigh of relief and turned to the computer, collecting what he could quickly, he left a little present for the Lieutenant in the morning. Tucking the USB back into his pouch, he lifted his gaze back towards the wall of questionable imagery involving a good portion of his life. He silenced the noise of disgust in his throat and slipped back out of the room, shutting the door behind himself. He stopped outside of Harlan’s bedroom door, peering in through the crack to ensure the man was still heavily snoring away before taking the stairs to the ground level. His gaze swiveled around, footsteps careful even on the dirty stained carpeting that lined the halls. The air smelled stale, like alcohol and old tobacco. There was trash cluttering the counter tops and papers stacked all over. Garrett plucked one envelope up, inspecting the logo of an insurance company with Harlan’s address neatly printed across the bottom corner.

It took a little bit of searching to find the house phone in the kitchen. The stench of garbage made his stomach roll as he stepped into the living room which was equally as pungent. For a man of high status, he lived like a hoarder. The thought made Garrett sick. He shook it off, ignoring the headache throbbing in the back of his skull as he dialed 9-1-1.

He waited, drawing his mask down just enough to keep his voice from being too muffled. His heart started to race in his chest, breathing in heavier and making himself sound genuinely scared. Which wasn’t hard given the fact he was in his worst’s enemy’s living room right now. The dispatcher picked up.

“9-1-1, what is your emergency?”

His breath was heavy on the phone, the lightest tremor spreading through his limbs as he clung to the device. His tone dropped, barely a whisper as he let his earlier fear take over. The memories of being under Harlan’s fist so many times before, the pain in his stomach, the twisting agony as his hand was impaled on the debris, the rawness in his throat when he’d scream for help that would never come. Only the ever constant fear of Thadeus Harlan standing over him like the Titan to his misery.

“I….I..need help. I don’t know where I am and there is a man trying to hurt me.” His voice quivered with unbridled fear. His eyes stinging as he continued to softly plead to the female voice on the other end. 

“Is there anything around you at all? A sign you can see?”

Garrett blinked a few times, clearing his vision as he adjusted the envelope. “I’m...I’m in a house- I think. I found...a piece of mail. I-I think it...it has the address on it.” The dispatcher spoke softly to reassure and calm him. Garrett felt the thundering in his chest as he relayed the street numbers and house address. His voice cracked and he swallowed down the rising sob in his throat. He was losing himself too quickly to his emotions, the past snagging its claws into him and dragging him back. He forced the ball of emotion down his throat and organized his thoughts. He was still in danger. His attention split between listening for Harlan’s footsteps and hearing the Dispatcher’s questions.

“Is there anyone else with you?”

“No-I...I don’t think so. God I’m so scared.” He whimpered. “I think- I think he’s coming.” Garrett spoke more frantically, not wanting to prolong the experience any further or risk her asking questions he really couldn’t answer. “I have to go. Please send hel-” And hung up before he finished.

He set the phone back in the cradle, noticing the trembling in his hands. He curled his fingers into tight fists and focused on breathing. Drawing his mask back over his face, he tossed the envelope back on the table and carefully cleared the accumulated tears from his eyes without smearing the Kohl. It took him longer to get back up the stairs and out the bathroom window. The need to stop along the way and calm his racing heart was a slight miscalculation on his part but the pay off would be _ oh so sweet _ in the morning.

“That’s what you get for keeping that shit in your house asshole.” Garrett growled, dropping over the wall he had come over earlier and darted across the street and back to his bike.

* * *

Garrett was too wired to settle in and get any sleep after his return home. He couldn’t think to do anymore work and spent a decent hour alone just scrubbing every inch of his gear to get the rank stench of Harlan’s home out of his leathers. He showered twice and even embraced the cold night air on his balcony to try and cleanse his palate of the experience. It did little to soothe the nerves that wracked his body and mind. That subtle shake that he couldn’t brush off, the nervous tick that made him jump at every light and shadow. He ended up curled up on his couch with a large heavy blanket drawn from his bed wrapped around him. With nothing but his head sticking out and whatever old Scooby-Doo repeats were playing in the early hours of morning.

He settled on a bowl of cereal, not much in the mood for cooking and settled down with a cup of hot tea just as the morning news was about to come on. He was greeted with the daily forecast and some updates on highway accidents. There wasn’t much else but Garrett hadn’t really expected his stunt to go that big given the short time frame.

He resigned himself to check again later, expecting to find something interesting circulating the web at least. The wealthy were nosey as fuck and he knew some of them had to have been taking pictures and standing in their front yards staring as the police pulled up to their precious protected community. Even if nothing really comes from it, Garrett hoped Harlan’s humiliation would be enough to sate his satisfaction. Part of him hoped they search his home and find his office and the very suspect images on his wall. If the man can lie through his teeth over why he has them and get off scot free, then Garrett would just have to work harder some other way.

Several hours later and what could hardly be called _ sleep, _Garrett had woken up from one great big nightmare and with a splitting headache. He cursed the world and had a sneaking suspicion this was the universe punishing him for abusing the emergency number. Another part of him knew it was linked to the images of his past. He shouldn’t have gone in there to begin with and wasn’t even sure if what he found would suffice any sort of curiosity he had. Let alone give him the answers Victoria told him to find.

He had been tormented by the lurking shadow of Harlan chasing him through the darkened City streets. The pain of his fists on his broken fragile body. The taste of his blood on his tongue, pooling in globules down his throat. The tender flesh turned raw and agitated from screaming. His entire body ached with phantom spasms, lost reminders of his trials. The bitter years of his life before he had been saved by Victoria and Basso.

He slogged through most of the day and dared not go outside. His eyes stung as he glimpsed the light of evening peeking through his curtains and resigned himself to perch on the couch and watch home improvement reruns and conquer what remained of the tub of orange sherbert in his freezer. He had dozed off around dinner time and woke up just before it started to get dark. Checking the time, he flipped through the channels until he spotted the evening news was about to start.

There was a story about the protests going on, led by some guy that calls himself Orion. His activists titled themselves Gravens but they looked like circus rejects with painted faces and picket signs. They gathered in the streets, circling the well dressed man who looked like he preached hipster gospel, his protestors resembling guard dogs. He stood on his little box, calling out to them as they answered in return.

The next story was on growing gas prices and the highway accidents this morning. He was about to give up when the major story of the evening finally came through. Camera crews had been on scene earlier that morning taking video as police raided the quiet little gated community, bringing out box after box of evidence. Garrett’s face split into a wide smirk as they mentioned Harlan’s arrest and showed Corvo and Daud leading the man out of his house in handcuffs. His delight was short lived when the reporter informed the camera that there was in fact someone trapped inside the house.

Garrett stared in confusion, sitting up on the couch when the camera showed a young man, barely in his teens being escorted out protectively, his tiny frame wrapped in blankets and tears of joy streaming down his cheeks. His arms were folded around himself, messy dark hair was swept up to one side, he was dirty, barely clothed and covered in injuries. The next photograph showed a missing person’s poster for a high school freshman who had disappeared a month earlier while walking home from school. Garrett’s stomach dropped and the sour burn of bile edged up his throat. The face wasn’t quite the right shape but the eyes and hair were a striking resemblance to Garrett when he was younger. Even the height was pretty close, the kid had a slightly bigger build than Garrett when the picture was taken, but from the footage, Harlan had fixed that. Even the pallor of his skin with its ghostly shade was haunting.

Garrett reached for the remote, fumbling to turn the report off as they started to explain the conditions the kid had been trapped in. Apparently kept in the basement of the home. The t.v went black as he tossed the remote back on the coffee table, tucking his knees to his chest. The sweet sherbert in his stomach turned sour and acrid. He had only a moment’s warning before bolting to the bathroom and heaving up every last bit of his earlier comfort snack.

The realization of his harmless prank struck him like a freight train, unaware that just below his feet some poor kid was suffering the same as he once had. That some kid had earned the ire of Harlan’s aggression in Garrett’s place. He knew it wasn’t his fault, there was no way he could have known, but Harlan’s obsession and anger towards him had been forced on somebody entirely innocent. Garrett couldn’t help but feel guilty for it. That he was at fault in some way.

He clung to the bathroom sink, hands trembling as he fumbled with the faucet to wash his mouth out and get his bearings. He jolted, his head snapping up when his phone started to ring. _ Go Ask Alice _playing in the living room where he left the device on the coffee table. He didn’t have the will to retrieve it or even the desire to. He let it go until it fell back into silence. It lasted only a few seconds before it started to ring again. Garrett sank down to the floor and pushed the door shut behind him, ignoring the vibrations of his phone on the metal surface as one missed call after another rang out. The subtle chirp of texts messages dinging in for several minutes until it suddenly stopped. The silence spread thin over him, wired and taut like the tension would break him apart. His head pounded in sync with his beating heart, the ache in his chest was almost worse than in his head. His fingers clawed into the front of his shirt, tugging lightly before dropping his head into his hands. He could barely stifle the sob that formed, shoulders shaking with the force as he gave in. Hot tears streaming down his face and soaking into the collar of his shirt.

His arms roped around himself protectively, wishing he could just disappear in a flash of a moonlit grin and fade away into the shadows. He had won against Harlan, but the realization was bitter to swallow. What exactly had he succeeded in? No more kids would be hurt by that psycho, yeah. But how many have suffered over the years? How many more had taken his place to satisfy Harlan’s sick urges? The man had been hellbent on Garrett. His obsessive needs were directed at him and those poor kids, they had just been canon fodder while he worked his way through positions of power to secure his true goal.

There was no satisfaction in this victory. Only pain.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> By the way, in the main story, there isn't actually a kid in the basement. Svart-Jade and I were discussing in a joking manner, Garrett doing this as a joke to fuck with Harlan and make his life miserable. But that idea switched to the thought of "what if there was a kid locked in Harlan's house?" And I felt compelled to write this alternate scene. 
> 
> In the main story there isn't a kid there. Just a lot of questionable photographs.


End file.
